


Simply Green

by dessert_first



Category: due South
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, Humor, Kink, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-30
Updated: 2008-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessert_first/pseuds/dessert_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you'd asked Ray, he'd have said no way would anyone buy Fraser as a trannie hooker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zabira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabira/gifts).



  
"No," Ray says. "N-O. No." He crosses his arms, hunching in on himself, and works on his glare. "This is stupid."

"But Ray," Fraser says, all calm and reasonable and no fucking way is Ray gonna let him get all calm and reasonable about this. This is as far from reasonable as it can get. "Surely you agree this is the best course of action for apprehending Mister Fruit and his cohorts."

"Yeah, well, there's a little too much action in that course, Fraser, and I am not down with that. Get, I dunno, Huey to help you. Dewey. Jackson. Whatever. I'll, you know, I'll be on stakeout."

"But Ray," Fraser says again, and how does he _do_ that? "I'd feel more comfortable if _you_ —"

"Fraser, I am not gonna be your pimp, okay!"

It could maybe say strange things about their working relationship that no one in the busy bullpen even bats an eye at this. Conversations keep going, telephones keep ringing, Huey keeps taking some guy's statement, Dewey keeps laughing that obnoxious laugh at something Frannie said…

Ray tries not to think about it.

"Of course not, Ray," Fraser says brightly, hat in hand, uniform buttons shining like new pennies. "That won't be necessary."

"Oh," Ray blinks. "Well, good. Great. Greatness."

"I'll need you to pose as my john."

***

Ray doesn't ask for much. A place to call home, a T.V. to watch the game on, food for his pet turtle. A beer once in a while, some good music. Maybe the chance to go dancing, maybe just a little quick-step around his living room. The patience to put up with Benton Fraser, RCMP.

The willpower not to jump his gorgeous Canadian bones.

But Fraser, he asks for even less. He don't need the T.V., the home, the beer or the music, and Dief the donut bandit forages pretty well on his own.

So when he asks Ray for something, Ray is pretty much incapable of saying no. He practices it in his head sometimes. _No, Fraser. No thank you. Thank you very kindly, but no. N-O. No._ He even says it out loud fairly often, but making it stick… well.

One look at those wide blue eyes, that earnest face, and Ray's no goes South. To, like, Tierra del Fuego.

And all that's left is a great big honking YES, and Ray just hopes he isn't broadcasting it too loud and clear, for all of Chicago to hear as well as his bat-ears partner.

So, okay, yes. Ray is waiting across the street from where Fraser is hanging with the boys Fruit's been hassling. If you'd asked Ray, he'd have said no way would anyone buy Fraser as a trannie hooker.

But Fraser, he really _commits_ to a role when he's on a case. The trannies gave him this trashy little nothing denim skirt that's ripped all to hell, fishnet stockings and high heels. His shirt's a green strappy little number of a tank top, generously stuffed with falsies, and he's got a long red wig and makeup that's a little too demure for a call girl.

The real trannie hookers flank him, chattering and giggling and Fraser looks like he's having the time of his life, nodding and smiling and flicking his long hair off his incongruously broad shoulders, his posture perfect. He's so damn proper, even in his getup, like a transvestite hooker librarian.

Some cars cruise by, johns checking out what's on offer, and a few of the boys go off with them. Pablo, the hooker who got Fraser his outfit, sticks close to Frase, keeping a wary eye on the street. Pablo's skinny, with a blond dye job and a motormouth. He's wearing what looks like an entire stick of eyeliner on each eye, false lashes, false boobs, and real attitude. He reminds Ray of his nephew Jake, or of himself when he was younger.

You know, if he'd been a transvestite hooker, which he had not.

In fact, Ray can honestly say he's never given much thought to transvestite hookerism in general, not until Constable We Should Help the Community Fraser had roped him into this gig. Ray's undercover work had been mostly drug-related stuff, a little Russian mafia, some smuggling once. He'd been a go-go dancer for one day, but he'd collared the mark too fast to really get a feel for the scene.

Fraser thumbs his nose, and Ray moves in. Some asshole john looked like he was moving in on Pablo but now he's ignoring him and the other boys trying to draw away his attention. He's trying to pick up Fraser instead, and that is so not going to happen.

"Back off, asshole," Ray sneers, sauntering over. He looks up at Fraser, towering over him in his stupid ankle-breaker high heels, broad-chested and wide-shouldered and fucking _demure_. "How about it, baby?" he asks.

Fraser smiles.

And damned if Ray doesn't feel like he got the girl.

He does it a few times over the next couple of nights, enough that he starts to get the hang of taking Fraser home, starts getting kind of used to it. And if he's honest with himself, the getup is kind of growing on him.

So Ray spends a few days avoiding being honest with himself.

***

"That was amazing!" Pablo enthuses. He's jumping up and down so much his wig is askew. "We thought you were goners for sure when he pulled out that gun—I can't believe you caught that guy!"

The other hookers cheer, and Ray and Fraser are both treated to hugs and backslapping. And, okay, a little butt-slapping, but Ray figures that's like football players.

"We owe you big-time," says Cherry, and the others agree.

The black and whites are carting off Fruit and his gang, and hopefully there's enough evidence they won't be getting out to hassle working boys for a good long time.

"Just doing our jobs," Fraser says politely, and Ray nods.

"No," Pablo shakes his head, setting his earrings swinging. "You guys went above and beyond. Word will get around about this. You two will never have to pay for sex again in this town!" He beams.

" _Again?_ I ain't never paid for sex in my life!" Ray splutters.

"Sure you haven't," Pablo smirks knowingly.

"I haven't!"

"Ray," Fraser says. "Perhaps we should take their offer in the spirit in which it is intended."

"Uh, yeah, okay. You bet."

***

Ray can't help thinking about it on the drive home, though. He darts a glance at Fraser, looks at the road, glances back again. Fraser just sits there in his bizarre getup: red wig, denim skirt and green top. His hands are demurely folded in his lap.

"Fraser, do you…" Ray looks back at the street, grips the steering wheel a little harder.

"Yes, Ray?"

"Do you… ah, never mind. It's dumb."

Fraser looks like he wants to say something, then hesitates. "All right," he says.

"It's just—do I really look to you like the kind of guy who pays for sex?"

A lipsticked pink "o" of surprise is Fraser's first answer. "Ray! What…"

"And even if I _were_ the kind of guy who pays for sex, why would they think I'd pay for that _kind_ of sex?"

"Well, I—"

"Not that there's anything wrong with that! With that kind of sex, I mean, not the paying. I'm just sayin'."

"Ray, I honestly don't think—"

"Maybe they thought, you know—maybe they thought I was too into the role. Too ready to f—um, take you home. Too ready to take you home with me, and, and, _do_ things. That I would pay you for." Ray runs a hand through his hair, agitated, stops at a red light and only then risks a look back at Fraser.

Fraser is looking… odd. Odder than just the getup. His eyes are wide, lips parted, breathing is fast. He looks about to pass out.

God, Ray is so dumb about these things, the Stella things, the pick-up things, the letting-other-people-know-he's-into-them things.

"It's not the outfit," he rushes to say. "I mean, you look good in the outfit, the outfit works. I gotta admit, I had my doubts you could make it work, but you really, uh, managed to make it seem, you know, convincing. Which is great, it's just not, uh, what I am into. Although I could be into it, if you, if that's what you wanted."

The light turns green, and Ray is kind of tempted to just hand Fraser the wheel and go find a cliff to jump off of, because this right here has got to be the end of Ray's humiliation quota for life. Beside him, Fraser is dead quiet: not one word, not one sound. Ray risks a glance over, and not even one move is happening. Fraser is just looking straight out the windshield, stiff and still like he's on guard duty at the Consulate, never mind the strappy top and makeup.

Maybe Ray can just drop him off at Fraser's new apartment and pretend, the next day, that he'd been drunk. Drugged. Had dengue fever. All three. Ray's a creative guy, he's sure he can come up with something.

They're parked outside Fraser's place when Fraser finally seems to break his spell. He looks down at the incongruously large hands in his skirted lap and says, "Would you like to come in, Ray?"

Fuck, no. Ray would _not_ like to come in, thank you very much. It figures Fraser would be too polite to shoot him down in the car, and possibly his usually dormant survival instincts had woken up enough that he wouldn't want to do it in moving traffic, but now he's gonna invite Ray in, sit him down, and tell him just how royally he's fucked everything up. Maybe he'll even want out of their partnership. And, of course, he'll do it politely. Canadianly.

Ray bets there will even be tea.

"Ray?" Fraser asks, looking at him sideways, a quick glance from under mascaraed lashes.

Like Ray could ever tell this guy no and mean it.

"Sure, Fraser," he says, and turns off the engine. Cue the death march.

***

Ray follows Fraser into his apartment, turning his apology over in his mind, working on the details—he wants to get this right, has to—when Fraser calmly shuts the door, pushes Ray up against it, and kisses him.

His exclamation of surprise is lost in the warmth of Fraser's mouth. Ray pulls away a little, gasping. Fraser is looking flushed but defiant, lipstick smudged, delicate green eyeshadow making his eyes look huge. "Not that I'm complaining, Fraser, because believe me, I am not complaining. But is this—mmph!"

And that's the last talking Ray gets to do for a while. Which is cool, really, because talking is so overrated, and if it's a choice between talking and whatever Fraser's got on his mind, there is absolutely no contest there. He reaches up to pull off Fraser's wig, tossing it aside, and runs his fingers up through Fraser's sweat-damp hair.

Fraser's pawing at Ray's jeans with those big hands, so Ray takes that as license to find out just exactly what Fraser's got hiding under that brief swatch of denim. Fraser lets out a low groan when Ray cups his ass through the skirt, and presses his body even closer.

Ray's eyes are closed tight, like he's dreaming, because he needs to remember this, all of this, in case it's just some temporary bout of insanity on Fraser's part. Fraser tastes like tea, yeah, which Ray would have guessed, and like lipstick, and like himself. But he also tastes like some exotic spice, cardamom maybe. Something sweet. Ray wants to eat him up. They kiss and kiss, and Fraser is _loud_ , Fraser is _wanton_ , and Ray never would have imagined it, but he's so glad. He pushes up Fraser's skirt, shoves it up his hips, and palms the stiff ridge of Fraser's erection through the silky panties that, when Ray looks down, of course, _of course_ match his green top perfectly.

For some reason that Ray never would have imagined, he finds that insanely hot. He comes up on his tiptoes to make up for Fraser's high heels, presses his mouth up harder against Fraser's, and rubs and rubs at Fraser's satin-covered dick. Fraser is moaning, hissing, trying to speak into Ray's mouth, things like _yes_ and _Ray_ and _more_ , and he is clutching Ray's biceps and hauling him in close as if he's afraid Ray will try to get away.

Clearly, that is not going to happen anytime in this _ever_ , so Ray turns them around so Fraser's back is to the door now. He pulls away gently, then not so gently because Fraser is just _not_ onboard with letting Ray go, gripping him tight, kissing him blindly. Ray works himself loose finally, and Fraser's low cry stabs at him but all he wants is _closer_ , is to give Fraser the _more_ he's been asking for. Ray drops to his knees, nuzzles into the panties, and there is a dull thump as Fraser's head bangs back against the door.

Ray mouths at the warm length of Fraser's cock, getting the fabric spit-wet and slick until he can't stand it anymore, needs to taste Fraser's skin. He pulls at the waistband and Fraser's fingers hasten to help him. Together, they pull down the panties, leaving them around Fraser's booted ankles when his attempts to step out of them have him almost falling over in his haste.

They keep the skirt pulled up around Fraser's waist, Ray setting Fraser's hands on the material to keep it in place and out of Ray's way, Fraser obediently hanging on though his hands are shaking. His cock is flushed and damp with precome and so hard for Ray it makes him a little crazy. He puts his mouth on it, licks and sucks and strokes it with his lips and tongue. Fraser is steadily moaning, a litany of want in broken noises. Ray licks his way down to Fraser's balls, tonguing them, breathing in the musky, clean smell of Fraser's skin, and Fraser teeters in his high-heeled boots and chokes off what sounds like a curse just before it leaves his throat. Ray's hands come up under the skirt to cup Fraser's ass and it feels so good, all of Fraser feels so good. He pulls Fraser's cock back into his mouth, sucks him in deep as he can, his hand gripping the shaft where his mouth won't reach and basks like a cat in the noises Fraser's making. He bobs his head, varying the suction until he can _feel_ Fraser losing it, just totally losing it there in his proper makeup and his slutty/nice girl outfit. Fraser comes calling Ray's name, almost falling over, but Ray's got him, Ray steadies him with firm hands on Fraser's hips and swallows, swallows all of it, everything Fraser has to give.

He gives Fraser a minute to recover because Ray can be a really nice guy, besides knowing how to give a world-class blowjob. Not that he goes around sharing that kind of information with just anyone. Entertains himself by kissing and nuzzling at Fraser's thighs, nibbling and licking at the warm skin. He's so hard it hurts, but he can wait. This is _Fraser._

When Fraser's breathing has evened out a little, Ray grins up at him. Fraser smiles, lifts one hand away from its death-grip on his skirt, and gently strokes Ray's hair, cups his face. "Ray," he says. "That was…"

Ray smiles. "Yeah."

Fraser tries to get down on wobbly knees, wanting another kiss, Ray bets, but Ray stops him with a hand low on Fraser's belly, and gets up. A soft, sweet kiss, and Fraser just melts into him, boneless. Ray pulls away to meet Fraser's eyes.

"You trust me?"

Fraser doesn't hesitate. "Oh, yes."

Ray winks at him, grins, and drops back to his knees. Hands on Fraser's hips and he turns Fraser around to face the door. Fraser stumbles slightly, feet still caught in the panties around his ankles, but he recovers and goes along with it. "Brace yourself," Ray says, and Fraser does, hands and forearms up against the solid wood. Ray leans in, pushes the skirt up again, and starts to kiss his way up Fraser's thigh, all the way up to the junction where the sweet curve of his ass begins, and farther, over into the crease, spreading it open with his thumbs, greedily taking in the sound of Fraser's whimpers. He leans in to kiss and lick, getting everything wet, loving the sounds Fraser is making, the way he can't seem to help pushing his hips back towards Ray.

He keeps at it until Fraser is a quivering mess, barely holding himself up against the door. That's when Ray gets up off his knees, presses a kiss to Fraser's shoulder blade, right next to the strap of his pretty little top. "Can I fuck you?" he asks, hands reaching around to clasp at Fraser's belly, hugging Fraser's shaking body to him. Ray's erection presses up against Fraser's ass, right where it wants to be.

Fraser doesn't answer in words, just fumbles at his wadded-up skirt for a moment, finally coming up with a little sachet of slick and a strip of condoms, which he presses into Ray's hand. Ray grins. Fraser likes to be in character when he goes undercover.

"That's good," Ray says, biting at the back of Fraser's neck, feeling Fraser's shudder travel through every inch of his body. Slicks his fingers with the lube and works it in slowly, stretching Fraser until he's pushing back against Ray's fingers, calling out for more and now and please, and Ray is not insane enough to tell him no. He rolls on the condom and pushes in as slowly as he can stand it, hands on Fraser's hips, gripping fistfuls of denim. He rocks in a little at a time, Fraser's fingers scrabbling at the door, until Fraser pushes back, grunting, and takes Ray in all the way.

And holy _fuck_ , Ray almost loses it right there. Fraser is so hot and tight around him, his body quivering, panting, waiting for Ray to move, _begging_ Ray to move, so he does, he has to, he fucks Fraser and grabs his hips and kisses his neck and _loves_ him, loves him so much it's a kind of pain, and a kind of ecstasy all at once. Fraser is moaning freely now, and fucking back against him, slamming himself onto Ray's cock, and Ray can feel him struggling to spread his legs more but he can't, still hampered by the panties cuffing his ankles. Ray hugs Fraser close, arms wrapped tight around him, snakes a hand down that strappy top, over Fraser's firm torso, his straining belly, and down to circle his cock. He jerks Fraser right along with the fucking, and it's a dance, and it's beautiful, and maybe Fraser loves Ray too, a little, if he can let it all out like this, if he can be like this with Ray. Fraser comes, shaking with it, and it's too good for Ray not to follow tumbling after, like he always does with Fraser, like falling out of an airplane. He presses his face against Fraser's back and tries to catch his breath, and he can't seem to stop hugging Fraser.

But he thinks, maybe, that Fraser doesn't mind.

***

"Ray," Fraser says nervously, afterwards. "What you said earlier." They're lying curled around each other on Fraser's bed, and Fraser's hair is an unholy mess, sweaty and part sticking up, part smashed down. His makeup's all smudged to hell, and Ray's probably wearing half of it by now. Fraser cracks his neck and looks away, before flicking that blue gaze back to Ray. "Did you mean it?"

 _Which part?_ Ray wants to ask, because he knows he was suffering from some pretty severe foot-in-mouth at the time, what with the paying for sex and the wondering what people thought about him and the implying Fraser didn't look good in his outfit. The thing is, he _did_ mean what he said, and there's no real point in lying about it now. Not that he wants that, with Fraser, pretending to be somebody he's not. Not that it worked, anyway, at least not with Stella. So he just says, "Yeah."

"Oh." Fraser blushes, color rising up into his pale cheeks. "So, it wasn't the threat of sudden death that brought this about?"

"Fraser, no offence, but sudden death threats are pretty much a given when we're working together. Never made me blow you before."

Fraser mutters something that sounds a lot like "If only," then clears his throat. "So do you think, perhaps, we could try this as just us sometime?"

Ray frowns. "Hey," he says. "Hey," more insistent, until Fraser faces him. "That _was_ us. That was you and me, all the way, I don't care what you were wearing. I'll do you in jeans and flannel. I'll do you in the Uniform. Hell, I'll even do you _naked_. C'mon," he tugs at Fraser's hand insistently. "C'mon, I'll do you right now, let's go!"

Fraser smiles at him. "Very enthusiastic response, Ray. I think we can test that out tomorrow, if you don't mind."

"Hey, as long as you don't kick me out of bed," Ray says, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "Just for tonight, maybe, if you don't—"

A calloused finger rests gently on Ray's lips, halting the flow of words. "I would never kick you out, Ray. In fact, I'd hoped… I'd hoped perhaps, with time, we could…"

"Oh," Ray says. " _Oh_. That's… really? You really?"

"Really, Ray." Smiling softly, Fraser lays his hand on Ray's chest.

"Well, me, too. Really."

Fraser beams at him, and the world is big and bright and wonderful.

And Ray should really take those hookers out to a nice thank-you dinner.

  
The End.

_  
**Belated birthday fic for our hero,[](http://zabira.livejournal.com/profile)[ **zabira**](http://zabira.livejournal.com/) (F/K, NC-17)**   
_

**Author's Note:**

> Happiest of belated birthdays to you, Zabira! You are funny and bright and warm and all-around delightful and you do so much for fandom, all of it with talent and class. I'm so glad to be getting to know you. Here you go, with best wishes for a glorious new year of you. May you achieve your goals and fulfill your dreams.


End file.
